


Angels We Have Heard

by HallowedNight



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: ((lots of music)), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilbo is grumpy, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, M/M, Music, Slow Build, and Thorin is the annoying new recruit that can actually sing, and so is Thorin, the one where Bilbo is an assistant choir director
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4426433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedNight/pseuds/HallowedNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins, the assistant director of an award-winning community choir, was perfectly content going about his business without scruffy, honey-voiced strangers barging their way into his practice and throwing a myriad of cogs in the metaphorical works. </p><p>(Or, the one in which Thorin hates the fact that he loves Bilbo's voice, and Bilbo just hates Thorin. Or so he insists.)</p><p>((Rating/Characters/Tags subject to change in later chapters.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, my first Hobbit AU~ I'm really enjoying it, and I think I'm going to switch between updating this and I See Fire, just for some variety. c:
> 
> Also, I now have an exclusively [fantasy/Middle Earth Tumblr](http://dwarvenhistoric.tumblr.com/), so feel free to check me out there, if you'd like~ I post a lot of gay Dwarves and little writings. c:
> 
> All that aside, please enjoy!

Bilbo Baggins entered the performance hall with a swirl of snow and a deep scowl, his woolen scarf flapping about his face as he struggled to slam the door behind him. In truth, the assistant director (and what a deceptive title _that_ was) would much rather be beside his toasty fire than fighting the cold in a drafty community center, but his subtle prompts to cancel the week’s rehearsal had gone unheeded, so here he was, a folder stuffed with sheet music in one hand and a thermos in the other. The practice wasn’t technically needed; both Bilbo and Mr. Gandalf, the old choir director, knew that their award-winning group was already fully prepared for the annual Christmas concert even three weeks out, but Gandalf was nothing if not routine.

The performance hall was blessedly empty, giving Bilbo a few minutes to peel off his many coats and gather his thoughts. He shot a dirty look at the achingly familiar risers spread in front of the stage as he pulled the box of leather-backed music folders from the side room. As much as he would like to remain irritated, this stupid room and those stupid platforms always relaxed him, though the choir members might disagree. Bilbo would be the first to admit that he was a little snippy, maybe even cold, during rehearsals, but his group had a reputation to maintain, and he refused to let the caliber of his choir drop, even infinitesimally.

Bilbo had just finished organizing his own music when the hall doors opened, spitting Gandalf and several other members of the choir into the lofty room. The bearded director smiled widely when he saw Bilbo, shrugging out of his long, grey overcoat with a practiced ease that seemed to contradict his aged face. The assistant director wasn’t fooled by Gandalf’s cheerful demeanor, however; he could tell the old man was silently plotting something.

“Good evening, Mr. Baggins!” Gandalf greeted jovially.

“Gandalf,” came Bilbo’s chilly reply, his brow furrowing even further as he noticed the sheaf of papers under the director’s arm. “What is that?” He took a bit of vengeful pleasure in Gandalf’s suddenly sheepish expression.

“Well, I may have picked up another song for the Christmas concert-”

“Gandalf! How many times have I told you, we can’t just-”

The director held up a placating hand, and Bilbo calmed reluctantly, his arms folding defensively over his chest.

“We can read it today,” Gandalf reasoned, “and if it doesn’t work, then we shall go back to the original program. Deal?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Well, I can’t exactly say no, now can I?”

“Now, Bilbo, you know I value your opinion greatly! We wouldn’t be half the group we are without you,” Gandalf said, his eyes twinkling from beneath his bushy brows.

“You’re not wrong,” Bilbo growled in return as he stalked away to greet the steadily growing knot of members congregating around the risers. They had a few minutes still before rehearsal started officially, and Bilbo was pleased, but not necessarily surprised, to see so many people already there; no simple snowstorm could separate a musician from their art. At five minutes till six, all the members, minus one or two, began to file onto the risers, some still chatting as they passed around folders and took their places, eventually falling into attentive silence as Gandalf took his place before the group.

“Good evening, everyone!” he said with a smile, nodding amicably though the responses that followed the customary greeting. “I thank you all very much for coming in such weather. I’m pleased to announce that-”

Just then, as if the universe wanted to keep Gandalf’s big (irritating) declaration a secret, the door flew open once more and a figure strode into the hall. Bilbo stiffened immediately; everyone in town knew that six o’clock was booked for choir practice, and they didn’t like to be interrupted. Gandalf appeared unmoved by this interloper, who pulled an enormous toboggan off his head to reveal a veritable mane of black hair.

“Good evening,” Bilbo said pointedly, stepping between Gandalf and the newcomer. “I don’t mean to be blunt, but what are you doing here?” He ignored the old director’s sigh, straightening up to his full height as the dark-haired man gazed at him, seemingly confused.

“I, um…this is choir practice, correct?” The man’s rich baritone carried through the hall, his voice matching his appearance infuriatingly perfectly. Bilbo’s eyes narrowed.

“Obviously.”

“Bilbo,” Gandalf intervened carefully, sidling up to the bristling assistant director’s side. “This is Thorin Durin, and I invited him to join us today. Thorin, meet our marvelous assistant director, Mr. Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo’s gaze flicked up to the old man’s face, virtually screaming ‘I should have known this was your doing.’ The newcomer – Thorin, apparently – watched the pair keenly, taking the moment of tense silence to pull back his hair into a messy bun and brush the last bits of snow from his short beard.

Gandalf eventually diffused most of the tension by reminding Bilbo that he _had_ asked for more baritones, and assuring the little director that Thorin was indeed a decent singer, and that he needn’t worry about Gandalf sabotaging his own choir. Bilbo was still far from pleased, but he stepped aside, glaring at Thorin’s back as the man slid into his spot on the risers and greeted the people around him with pleasant, quiet confidence.

“Anyway,” Gandalf continued once everyone was settled, “I’m pleased to announce that I’ve dug up a new piece for us to try!” There was an excited chitter from the choir. “And you’ll all be delighted to know that it calls for a male soprano-”

Bilbo immediately cut him off with a groan, scrubbing his hands over his face in his frustration.

“C’mon, Mr. Bilbo! We love when you sing with us, we really do!” Bofur, a tenor and one of Bilbo’s closest friends, called from the back row.

“Now, I just-”

“Oh, please, Mr. Bilbo!” That was Ori, the little alto for whom Bilbo had a mighty soft spot. He sighed.

“Fine, I’ll read it. Give it here.”

Once the music was passed out and Bilbo had squished onto the end of the lowest riser, his exasperation had melted away to be replaced by quiet enthusiasm. Though he usually chose not to sing and focus instead on running the logistics of the choir, it was nice to take a place in the risers every once in a while, and he had to admit that Gandalf’s taste in music was impeccable.

In the meantime, Thorin was inwardly laughing, tremendously pleased that the stuffy little assistant director was being put on the spot. Being relatively new in town, Thorin hadn’t even known about the community choir until a few days ago, when Gandalf had approached him after a strange night of overly-competitive karaoke with his two nephews to suggest he join up. He had debated the old man’s proposition for most of the week, only making up his mind ten minutes before practice began.

Though he wouldn’t say that Bilbo’s less than cordial greeting had offended him, it had ruffled him enough that seeing the sandy-haired director so flustered at being asked to sing was rather gratifying. They were two fish out of water apparently; Bilbo’s reaction made Thorin wonder if the man could even sing. Decent male sopranos were few and far between, and Thorin wasn’t feeling very generous that evening.

Before he could delve deeper into his admittedly bitter thoughts, Gandalf began speaking again, apparently dividing up solos.

“Okay, Mr. Baggins will obviously have the male soprano… Tauriel, will you kindly sing the soprano line? Excellent, excellent, hmm… I’d like Myrtle on alto, and…Bofur, let’s have you on tenor. Thorin, would you like the baritone solo line?”

“Sure,” Thorin agreed readily, glad for a chance to prove himself to _Mr. Baggins_. Not that he felt any particular need to, for any real reason…it must just be his Durin competitive spirit acting out, he supposed.

Bilbo had to bite back a sigh at this particular appointment. It was just like Gandalf to put a newbie on the spot on their first day. Oh well; Thorin would have to step up or step out, and Bilbo would be lying if he said he wouldn’t bet on the latter.

“Right then!” Gandalf reclaimed his choir’s attention with few quick snaps. “Let’s run through it! I’m not expecting perfection, but let’s see how we do just once with no stops. Do your best, and sing through mistakes.” There were a few murmurs of agreement, and then they were off, a quiet motif from Bilbo beginning the piece.

Thorin now noticed he had quite a bit of solo work; in fact, the entire piece centered around just five voices, with the rest of the choir singing accompaniment. It was beautifully arranged, and Thorin was thoroughly enjoying himself by the tenth bar or so. He focused on his voice, on projecting, on rising and falling with the lines, but he kept one ear on Bilbo’s part throughout. The little director…wasn’t terrible, he noted.

Bilbo, meanwhile, was doing much the same, keeping a sharp ear on Thorin’s parts, occasionally glancing up at Gandalf, who looked rather smug.

Okay, so maybe the scruffy stranger could sing a little bit. That was just fine. So could Bilbo. He was beyond thrilled to see the climbing notes at the climax of the piece, a perfect, solid, yet beautiful, piece of writing that only a very good male soprano, someone like Bilbo, could manage.

Thorin recognized the buildup several measures before the climax, silently praying that the final solo would fall to the soprano beneath Bilbo. He had no such luck, however, but suddenly found that he didn’t particularly care as the little man sang through the song’s peak, his voice floating above the choir in a haunting lament, the final, highest note ringing like a struck bell. Goosebumps rose unbidden along Thorin’s arms and spine; Bilbo was, apparently, _very_ good, breezing through lyrical sections and belting out powerful high notes like they were nothing.

Well, fuck, Thorin thought as the last notes of the song faded away, to be replaced by excited chatter that was quickly silenced by Gandalf.

“I think that went brilliantly!” The director was positively beaming. “Excellent job soloists; would you all like to put that in the program for the concert?”

The answer to this was resounding ‘yes,’ so Bilbo hopped off the platform to pencil the tune into his schedule. Thankfully, he had only one other song in the concert, and they weren’t practicing it that night, so he was able to sit back for the rest of rehearsal to watch Gandalf’s new recruit with a critical eye. He eventually decided the man could sing; his voice was strong and resonant, and he seemed to have a decent ear. This annoyed Bilbo, naturally, but it was nice to have another deep voice in the choir, and Thorin’s voice in particular was distinctive and undeniably perfect for solo work.

After practice had wrapped up, Bilbo made a point to approach the man, chin held high. “I wish to…apologize for my earlier remarks,” he sniffed, avoiding Thorin’s face. “I spoke hastily. You may stay.” He finally met the other man's eyes, his expression cooly dignified. Thorin's, on the other hand, seemed to be stuck between irritation and confused amusement.

“I…thank you,” he eventually managed.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo said loftily. “Don’t be late next week.” He then turned on his heel and stomped towards the door, loose curls bouncing behind him.

Thorin huffed as he watched the little man leave. Something told him his life was about to get a lot more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((The song I was thinking of when I wrote this was Mary, Did You Know? as sung by Pentatonix. I'd strongly advise you to look it up if you haven't already, it's honestly amazing. [And if you do know the song and are familiar with PTX, Bilbo has Mitch's parts, while Thorin has a mix of both Scott's and Avi's.] c: ))


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short, but... *shrug* At least a plot has started. c: Enjoy!

Bilbo’s already touchy mood had descended to borderline frightening by the time he finally got back to his little house on the edge of town. The snow hadn’t let up in the least, making driving a total nightmare, and his Mini Coop wasn’t exactly made for such weather anyway (though the four-wheel drive he thought he’d never need had come in handy). Sighing heavily, Bilbo shrugged out of his coat and threw it towards the hanger beside the door, grinning in vindictive glee when it stayed on the hook. His scarf followed, though it ended up on the floor a foot away.

After yanking off his boots and shaking most of the snow from his hair, Bilbo collapsed on the couch and pulled out his phone, his terrible mood improving ever so slightly as he saw a few texts from his nephew. Frodo was in his first year at the nearby Shire University and was coming back home soon for the Christmas holiday. Bilbo couldn’t deny his excitement; he and Frodo had always gotten along wonderfully, and he hated living alone after so many years.

‘ _I hope you’re not driving in this._ ’ – F

‘ _Also can I bring some friends to stay for the first weekend?_ ’ – F

Bilbo shook his head, smiling faintly at the screen. If the boy had learned nothing else from Bilbo, at least he knew to make plans in advance.

‘ _I’m no longer driving. And yes, you may, but you have to spend extra time with me afterwards._ ’ – B

He stared at his phone for a few more seconds, then pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan. A hot shower and a late dinner in front of the TV was just what he needed; maybe he’d finally be able to start catching up on his ever-growing list of Netflix shows. His thoughts still on his nephew, Bilbo crossed the kitchen to hang up his scarf, then trundled to the bathroom, stripping down to his underwear and throwing the clothes in the laundry closet as he passed.

Living without his nephew for the first time in fourteen years had been very trying for Bilbo. After Frodo’s parents had died in a freak boating accident (a terrible business, in Bilbo’s opinion), he had taken the four year old in and had loved him like a son ever since. The bright-eyed youngster had always been entirely too charming, constantly asking questions and running about getting into things. To Bilbo’s utter relief, the boy’s rebellious phase had been relatively short-lived, and he had never gotten into much trouble. Bilbo considered himself lucky.

The bathroom was chilly, but that was nothing new; Bilbo barely felt the cold anymore, as a nice, warm shower acted as great incentive to brave the frigid floors. The water would take a few minutes to heat up, so he started the shower with a practiced flick and turned to the mirror, dropping his phone on the sink with a clatter. He immediately pulled a face, poking at his doughy midsection with extreme distaste. Though Bilbo wasn’t unhealthy by any means, he could never seem to lose any weight, and it bothered him. He knew it shouldn’t, and he had been working on his self-esteem for quite a while, but…it was hard. Very hard.

Looking away from the blasted mirror, Bilbo shucked off his underwear and stuck his hand into the shower, immediately regretting the hasty act when his already freezing fingers were bombarded with icy water. Cursing quietly, he dried his hand with the nearest towel and stuck it between his legs, hissing when the cold skin met his sensitive (but warm) inner thighs. Confounded awful plumbing that never-

Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone vibrated on the counter, the grating noise echoing off the surrounding tile. His brow furrowed as he peered at the number; no one really called him anyway, let alone someone he didn’t know. The area code wasn’t local, so it was probably a telemarketer, but just to be sure…

“Hello?” Bilbo balanced the phone between his head and shoulder, sitting on the toilet to stick both hands back between his thighs.

“ _Hello, um… Is this Bilbo Baggins?”_

Bilbo almost dropped the phone when he heard the voice on the other line. He knew exactly who it was, but he feigned innocence anyway.

“May I ask who’s calling?” he responded, biting back a sigh as hot steam finally began to drift from the shower.

“ _Oh, erm, it’s Thorin Durin, from choir practice._ ”

“Oh, hello.” As if Bilbo didn’t already know that silken baritone by heart. “How did you get this number, if you don’t mind me asking?”

There was a brief silence on the other line. “ _Gandalf gave it to me_ ,” came the eventual, rather sheepish reply. “ _I don’t want to impose_ -”

Bilbo released his built-up sigh. “It’s fine, Thorin, I don’t mind you having it. Most people in the choir do.” His disgruntled attitude towards the man had fallen away, to be replaced by tired acceptance. No, he didn’t like when people barged into his practice late, but Thorin hadn’t done anything wrong.

“ _That’s…that’s good._ ”

“Is there something in particular I can help you with? I was just about to get in the shower.” Bilbo stuck out his tongue, his face twisting uncomfortably. Why in the world had he mentioned that?

“ _Oh?_ ” Thorin’s previously awkward voice was now almost teasing, and Bilbo rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Yes,” he replied dryly, effectively stamping out any kind of mood Thorin might be attempting to set. The man apparently took the hint, and sounded appropriately embarrassed when he next spoke.

“ _I just wanted to…apologize for, erm, upsetting you earlier_.”

Bilbo blinked. “Well, thank you. I appreciate that, though I believe it was I who overreacted.”

“ _No, I totally understand it,_ ” Thorin began, his voice regaining some of its usual confidence as he spoke. “ _I also… Gandalf mentioned you’ve lived in Farthing for a while, and, well, I’ve just moved here recently, so… I was wondering if maybe you could show me around? Just for a little bit, if you have time… I know it’s a bit forward, but…_ ” He trailed off, and Bilbo took a moment to consider the request.

“I’m free on Saturday,” he eventually answered, and almost smiled at the relief evident in Thorin’s voice when he replied.

“ _Great! That’s great, um…can I text you a time?_ ”

“I’ll text you,” Bilbo returned; he definitely wanted to be in control of this situation.

“ _Alright, that’s perfect_.” Thorin laughed softly, obviously much more at ease than he had been at the beginning of the conversation. “ _Go take you shower, Mr. Baggins._ ”

“I intend to,” Bilbo replied pragmatically. “Goodbye, Thorin.”

“ _Goodnight_.” The man’s voice was warm and obviously pleased, and that was bad.

Bilbo hung up before Thorin could say anything else, dropping his head into his hands with a groan. This was exactly what he didn’t need right now… Well, he could only hope that Thorin was just a regular guy trying to make amends for being mildly shitty. That would be wonderful.

Shaking his head, Bilbo returned his phone to the counter and stepped into the shower, moaning happily as the hot water slicked down his hair and started the arduous job of soothing his rigid muscles. Only after he was thoroughly soaked did he realize he hadn’t turned on any music; by that time, he was too tired to be irritated, so he just leaned out of the shower and fumbled with his phone until gentle Christmas music filled the bathroom. Finally able to relax fully, Bilbo closed his eyes and let the water pour over him, washing away the cares of the day.

Once he was clean and dry and clothed in his favorite enormous sweatpants and Christmas sweater (Christmas was undoubtedly the man’s favorite holiday), Bilbo sauntered back out to the kitchen, in much higher spirits than when he had first gotten home. He turned the TV to a holiday music channel, singing along with the familiar tunes as he ladled out some soup he had made the previous night and stuck it in the microwave. The snow was much more exciting when he wasn’t driving in it, Bilbo decided, watching the fat flakes drift lazily to the ground, illuminated by the far off streetlamps at the end of his drive.

Just as he was settling down to watch some much-deserved Netflix, his phone, which he had forgotten about until then, vibrated in his pocket. The newest text was from Frodo, assuring his uncle that the friends he was bringing home were perfectly well behaved, not that Bilbo would suspect any different. Frodo had always had a useful knack for associating with people he could at least control, if they weren’t already entirely mellow in the first place.

A second text simply read ‘ _Thank you_.’ Bilbo rolled his eyes, albeit fondly, and the saved the number under the name ‘Thorin Durin.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Texting and phone calls are weird. But oh well. Self-conscious!Bilbo is a favorite of mine; don't worry, it will definitely be resolved by the end of this ridiculously cheesy story. o wo))


End file.
